


Online

by hanadoesstuffwrong



Category: Red Shoes and the 7 Dwarfs (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Character Development, Counselling, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Snowlin, F/M, Fairytale Island, Family Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Gaming, I don't know how to tag right, Merlin is kinda ooc at first, Romance, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, The fairy princess is my queen, University, arthurian legends, but he improves, headcannon characters, seriously i have no idea what I'm doing, snowlin, tags are scary, what is a beta reader?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanadoesstuffwrong/pseuds/hanadoesstuffwrong
Summary: Merlin is a twenty year old student at Southend University. To combat his detrimental narcissism, his counsellor suggests online gaming. Merlin tries to cheat by using an ancient game called Fairytale Island, which designs your avatar to match a photograph. This plan falls apart when his laptop explodes, turning his avatar tiny and green. He ploughs on regardless, sure that he will encounter nobody. Little does he know, that a newly moved student from the States is coming online the very same night. :)(It’s kinda switched so Merlin is the last of the F7 to get his attitude set right, so he may be a little ooc at first)
Relationships: Arthur/Gwen, Hans/Briar Rose, Jack/Viviane, Merlin & Arthur - Relationship, Merlin/Snow White (Red Shoes and the 7 Dwarfs), Pino & Noki & Kio, Tina & Steela & Nickela
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41





	1. Unwanted awakenings and unwarranted counsel

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first fanfiction and it is very, very long.
> 
> Basically I noticed that there weren't many red shoes fanfictions out there and little to no modern aus so i figured i'd do it myself! This is also being posted on my tumblr account of the same name so if you like it feel free to go and check out the stuff i do badly over there!!
> 
> (Small warning: I have been told that I use a ridiculous amount of Briticisms in my writing [as in using sofa instead of couch or trousers instead of pants] I don't think I've done it too much, but this thing is set in Southern England and most of my characters are British or use a UK dialect. I'm sorry if it's confusing for anybody and i am trying to use American English when writing from Snow's perspective)
> 
> Anyways, regardless, I hope you enjoy this, I am planning to make it quite a long multi-chapter thingy!! :)

Merlin couldn’t stand mornings, especially Friday mornings. Because for the duration of his first year of Uni, Friday’s lessons had always begun at the reasonable hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon. This left Merlin a good half hour to be awake, out of the door and on his bike, zipping past the crowded Southend beaches. In short, Merlin hated Friday mornings because he had not seen one in fifteen months. Needless to say, it was not a welcome reunion.

Approximately twelve minutes prior to commencing with today’s zipping -at the unlawful hour of nine in the morning- Merlin had been idly stirring shredded wheat into a depressing gruel (much to the disgust of the ever-vigilant, ever-attentive, red-haired cook,) basking in his own tardiness. 

Had he asked for counselling? No. 

Did he need counselling? None of their business.

Did he want to be dragged out of bed at half-eight by six overbearing housemates who apparently believed it was "necessary" or "overdue"; to be packed off to the Resource Centre so that they could _“Evaluate any and all emotional or psychological issues which may have arisen for you, as a student whom we have identified as being at risk, before the beginning of this new academic term”?_ No, he did not!

Contrary to a promising forecast, the sky was a sapphire pool overhead. Thus, the fantasy of motorbiking down empty seafront roads, the brassy drumming of thunder and the gurgle of saltwater smothering his roaring engine (Hans called him a madcap but personally, Merlin preferred the term _Raptor-trainer_ ) was squashed. And given that a motorbike charging down the road in the wee hours of the morning was frowned upon, Merlin was forced to content himself with walking at a purposefully counter-productive pace to the bus stop down the hill. Stubbornly, he insisted on himself that he wore a cobalt-blue, long-sleeved shirt with grey trousers; dressing not for the weather he _had_ , but the weather he _wanted_. This was a stupid idea and the sleeves were rolled up before he reached sea-level. He had to restrain himself from missing a bus entirely. It wasn’t crowded, because of course it wasn’t. Everyone else in Southend had better things to be doing. 

Like sleeping. 

The bus didn’t even go all the way to the college, stopping at least a dozen yards from the entrance like a noncommittal shrug. It took everything in Merlin to not keep his butt planted securely in his seat; let the busyness of British public transport whisk him away to the Leigh on Sea station; catch a train to Fenchurch street; disappear into Central London; never be seen or heard from again, especially by Dr- _as a student whom we have identified as being at risk_ \- LeFey; then inevitably die from water pollution at a ripe old age of thirty-five. It took everything in him, but he walked down to the building, through glass-doors ornamented by a million sweaty fingerprints, and into a waiting room that smelt of Sellotape.

Unsurprisingly, the stately woman at the desk gave him barely a passing glance, handing him a form to fill in with the enthusiasm of an automatic door sliding open. Also unsurprisingly, the assistant behind her paused in rearranging a filing cabinet to brush a couple of sandy hairs behind her ear and chew the end of a pen like it was made of liquorice. She even wandered aimlessly away from her task altogether, sidling up to the front desk most inconspicuously.

Merlin's mood brightened. While he leant down to scribble his name and address on the paper, he winked discreetly in her direction. In spite of definitely _not_ looking at him, her cheeks turned beetroot crimson and what might have been a giggle or the beginnings of a small heart attack escaped her lips. 

Against all of the shoddiness of his day so far, Merlin grinned inwardly, sizing her up with half of his attention. Tall, slender, twenty-one, twenty-two most likely. Stray blonde curls framed a thickly tanned face, the rest piled atop her head in a bun. In all, not a bad picture, although her wardrobe did leave something to be desired: Bell-bottomed jeans and a T-shirt reading _"Darth Vader was framed"_ , betraying that 

A. She still thought that bell-bottomed anything was a good look, and 

B. That she had never paid more than six quid for a shirt. 

However, her figure and the hang of her hair more than made up for those discrepancies. Perhaps he could get something out of this counselling after all. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly,

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he waved the form vaguely in front of his face, "but I have a small problem."

Perhaps knowing exactly what he was doing and being used to it by this point, the woman, Ms Marion- who had decided that underneath a lace cardigan was the place for a name tag- ignored him completely, leaving miss bell-bottoms to round the edge of the counter and come to stand by his side over the offending form.

"What's the matter?" She asked, sincerely.

"Y'see," Merlin began, fixing her with a smile that even Jack admitted made anyone weak at the knees, "right here it's asking me for something that I just don't really get." He pointed accordingly, and bell-bottoms leant in closer. To get a really good look at the text, of course.

"We need your mobile number."

"Oh, I see, now here's the thing." Wearing a look of utter helplessness, he faced bell-bottoms completely. She appeared confused, her face becoming redder by the second. "I don't have one of those."

"What?"

"A mobile number." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't mind terribly giving me yours, would you?"

If he squinted, Merlin was fairly certain he would see her bell-bottomed soul leaving her body and fluttering out of the window. He took her lack of reaction as an invitation,

"Lin Pendragon." He extended one hand, still cloaked in a fingerless glove the colour of wet bark. Despite his housemates deciding otherwise, Merlin was in fact not his actual name, and he would sooner be caught dead than introducing himself with it to an attractive young woman such as this. "Part time Ancient Historian, full time Romantic."

Bell-bottoms took the hand and shook it with unexpected firmness,

"Gowlle Delocks. Part time assistant, full time, um..." She seemed a little lost, floundering like a GCSE English paper "Full time-"

"Doctor Morgan LeFey. Part time tolerator of tardiness. This is not one of those times Mister Pendragon."

Spinning on his heel and effectively knocking the form onto the floor, Merlin faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway of a side-office like a disgruntled flamingo.

One thing came to mind when Merlin looked at the counsellor and that was the smell created when someone burns popcorn in a microwave. Forehead too small; nose too large, a hairy wart taking up most of it; everything that should end in a curve ending in an acute, needle-like point. She looked like a bad imitation of a Picasso painting come to life. Yellow hair that might have been blonde hung from her scalp, which he could almost see for how thin the stuff was; and her olive skin was definitely closer to a pale, sickly green from where Merlin was standing. The murky, sky-blue gown that would have looked excessive in the nineteenth century certainly didn't help. Summed up, she looked like a creature one would throw something at if it approached them on a dark night. Merlin felt his nose wrinkle in disgust.

So, he had been forced into counselling by a literal witch. Today was just going swimmingly wasn't it.

Dr Lefey's "office" was exactly what Merlin expected. Save of course for a cauldron, broomstick and small children in display cases. Indigo curtains rather than blinds hung at each side of a wide picture window that looked out on a garden peppered by horrendous little gnomes. Their China faces were stained green by years of mildew build-up. Her wooden floor she had covered with gaudy, knitted rugs, and the sides of her desk had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to them. On the off-white walls hung various, tasteless frames of all sorts and colours, each depicting a photograph taken by somebody who was evidently not a professional photographer. One such picture especially caught his eye.

"This you, Miss… Lefty?" The question was stupid, of course it was her, every other human being on the planet had at least managed to look like one. The photo showed the woman sitting in a cluster of children underneath a cobbled-together shack, a paper tiara on her head and a wand made out of several plastic straws. "The fairy princess in the mauve cardigan?"

"First," She answered, pushing the door shut behind her with her pointy hip, "It's Doctor Lefey, but you will call me Morgan in these sessions." Merlin couldn't help but smirk internally when she assumed there would be more than one of these nightmares. "Second, yes, that is me in the photograph, November, four years ago, Uganda, a recycling activity. And third," The slam of a hefty file being dropped unceremoniously on to a desk made Merlin jump. "I was the fairy Queen."

"Well, your majesty," he ducked his head in a mock bow, "you've aged..." At first, he searched for an adverb but then realised, he didn't particularly need one.

Morgan gave Merlin that pinched smile that he'd seen Arthur's girlfriend, Gwen, give customers at The Golden Goose Cafe when they told her she had no idea who she was dealing with. Also called the 'booting-you-into-next-Thursday-would-cost-twenty-pounds-an-hour-but-i-am-legitimately-considering-it' face. Merlin ignored her easily. He'd had years of practise doing so.

He plopped himself down onto a teal green sofa with a ketchup stain running up one arm. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but the garish pixie cushion did help somewhat. Morgan paid him no attention, leafing through the thick file which she had retrieved moments before. She paid him no attention for a little too long.

As aforementioned, Merlin was fine with ignoring people. Even enjoyed it sometimes. Unattractive waitresses, bin-collectors, overweight people at the gym, pedestrians. Being ignored, however, was a far less comfortable experience. Probably because it was such a rare one. He coughed into the pasty silence.

"Those your medical records?" The room was quiet enough to facilitate a pin drop sounding like a bowling ball being dropped. A long, controlled intake of breath was easily made out. “Cosmetic surgery?” 

"No." She said shortly, continuing with her browsing, "but they are yours." Merlin quickly stopped ignoring her. "And your birth records and your parents birth records and every other detail of your stimulating life story, Merlin." He short-circuited momentarily.

"That's not my-"

"No, it isn't your given name, but it's what your roommates call you and according to them, the one you prefer going by." Alright, those googly snitches were going to pay later. He recovered from his surprise gracefully as always, but that left him no less indignant.

"I- I wasn't aware that you'd have access to that information."

"Several reliable sources have identified you as being at risk, Merlin, everything in this folder is strictly need-to-know." A smile that could have been genuine spread across her features, and it may have been nice if it weren't so nauseating to look at. He crossed his arms and sunk lower into the sofa, muttering to himself,

"You hardly 'need-to-know' about the name though."

"Obviously, anything said in this session doesn't leave this room and the values and standards of Southend University are to be observed at all times." With quick strides on legs like skipping ropes, Morgan left her desk and placed herself gracelessly on a trademark shrink chair. 

The ‘ _So, Merlin_.’ Was audible on her spindly lips before they left them.

"So, Merlin. First, I'd like you to relax," Difficult, I'm sitting across from a gorgon, I'm a man moments from death, "and tell me about your background, where you're from, your family." He gave her a blank look.

"You just told me that you have a massive file telling you that stuff."

"Yes, but I'd like to know that you also know that stuff. Reviewing your case will prove very difficult if we aren't on the same page. Now, if you please." With an exasperated puff of air into his cheeks, Merlin leant forward so that his elbows braced against his knees and his hands clasped together.

"Fine. I was born in Seoul, South Korea; my parents died in a car accident when I was three. I was brought to England to live with an aunt in Ipswich."

"And you were comfortable with this change?" The interruption caused Merlin to blank for a second.

"Wha- I was three. I was comfortable sitting in a tumble dryer with knickers on my head!" This retort was not appreciated, judging by the tapping of Morgan's pencil against a green clipboard that had seemingly materialised out of thin air.

"These are regulation questions, try not to overthink your answers." With this she returned to drawing writing utensils from the ether apparently, a silent signal for him to continue. Already, Merlin's mind was going through fantasies of sprinting down the hill, across the high street and off the end of Southend pier.

"Alright then, the aunt was arrested when I was six-"

"Why was she arrested?"

"Are shrinks meant to interrupt their patients?"

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a University counsellor, why was your aunt arrested?" Nothing about this experience was relaxing. Getting a Frostino with Miss Delocks, the part-time-assistant would have been relaxing.

"Possession of illegal firearms. Just a taser. Five years in prison under the law of the United Kingdom. Happy?"

"Yes, this is very helpful. So, your guardian was arrested and…"

"I went into care, obviously. Seven foster homes over six years. Adopted after my eleventh birthday by Igraine Pendragon and her husband. I moved into their home in York, Summered in Cumbria; went to school with their son. Igraine died when I was fifteen, Uther when I was seventeen. Arthur and I moved out to one of the cottages we own in Leigh two years ago. It was all perfectly fine and now here I am at Southend University in a counselling session I didn't ask for with a counsellor that I'm certain nobody has ever asked for." Okay, the last bit slipped out half unwarranted, but he might as well be honest.

Long, mole-flecked fingers curled and tightened around the edges of her clipboard, leaving dents in the malleable green cork like it was plasticine.

"Right." Came a snarled response from between smiling teeth. "Now, on to some more current information: Who do you live with during your time at the University?"

"Igraine’s son, Arthur, and the five student tenants who rent out rooms." That felt weird to say. For some reason, whenever Merlin thought about the six other occupants of Stanrocc cottage, it was hard to remember that they weren’t all related in one way or another.

“Right, and are you comfortable with these living arrangements?”

“I’m a University student who gets to live in a fully catered house free of charge, what do you think?” The pinched ‘threaten-to-speak-to-my-manager-again-and-I-will-hit-you-with-a-shoe’ smile returned.

“Okay then.” A rustling of paper signalled that the background questions were mercifully coming to a close, as, Merlin hoped, was this entire experience. Unfortunately, the next words out of the witches’ mouth weren’t, _‘thank you for your time, Mister Pendragon, I hope you and Miss Delocks have a splendid afternoon.’_ Instead she intertwined her grotesque fingers and looked him in the eye. The fact that he didn’t turn to stone was a shock.

“Now, Merlin, I’d like to know what features you look for when meeting new people.” Alright, not what he’d wanted or expected to hear.

“Is this a personal interview-”

“Just-” Morgan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they completely disappeared into her face. “Answer the question, Merlin.”

“I look for the same things anyone looks for. Do they look approachable? Would I want to be seen with them out and about? Those kinds of things.” He darted his eyes from Morgan’s varicose ankles to her sloping forehead. 

“So, you base the value of other people’s company solely upon their outward appearance and draw any and all judgements from those assets?” There were too many words in that sentence, was all Merlin could think in response. When he did finally puzzle out what the question actually was, he gave the woman a jovial nod. Finally, they were on the same wavelength.

“Of course I do, how a person looks tells you a lot about who they are, doesn’t it?” 

Morgan must have been writing something down, but it still felt as though her eyes had not left Merlin for a second. An intake of breath through her wide nostrils filled the room.

“To some extent, maybe.” She shifted on her chair and the look in her eye of a person who had gotten exactly what they wanted was unnerving. “Merlin, do you think you feel this way about other people because these mentalities could have been forced on you in the past?” Her nasal voice had become one of understanding and professionalism, the Northern accent thinning considerably. Merlin didn’t like it at all. “Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look?”

Throughout this entire, stupid session, Merlin had been wanting to avoid answering questions. Now all he wanted to do was say something so devastating yet so on point that it would shut this witch up for the rest of her career. And yet his tongue remained still, rooted to the floor of his mouth.

“I see.” The counsellor stood and shook out her skirts with the smug air of a woman victorious. Merlin wanted to throw something at her. Like a shoe. She went around to the back of her desk and retrieved a post-it-note shaped like a unicorn. “I’m giving until the beginning of the new term to combat this problem that we seem to have here." In one motion she ripped away the post it note and was making her way back towards him, brandishing it like a literal curse rather than simply the figurative one that it clearly was. She handed it to him unforgivingly.

"I'd like you to try a social activity that is purely audio based. Interactions with others that don't allow them to see your appearance." The urge to crumple the note into a ball was strong. “I’ll schedule another session three weeks from now.”

"And what if I'm perfectly happy with the way things are? I don't need to change anything." Merlin shot back, and control of the situation brushed his fingertips before Morgan's condescending smile dragged it out of reach again.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many reports do you think I received from your professors and peers of this self-important, judgemental behaviour?" Merlin was already standing as he milled the question over for a full couple of seconds.

"One or two, I'd imagine." He finally mumbled. The witch drummed her pencil against her crossed arms and shook her head. "Well," Merlin started, "it can't have been-"

"Twenty-four." She didn't look victorious now, just a little sorry. That was so much worse. "Twenty-four different people, who you have known for only a year or so. Still think you don't need to change anything?"

Merlin didn't want to look around at her ridiculous face again. He didn't think he even knew twenty-four people well enough for them to report him. Her voice carried on no matter how much he wanted it not to.

"If I don’t see improvement three weeks from now, regardless of how you feel about it, I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely."

The facts stung like poisonous, green smoke in Merlin's head. He pulled at the ornamented door handle, dismissing himself. Then a question came into his mind and forced itself to be asked.

"What activities would you suggest, then?"

"Start an interactive podcast; volunteer for a University chat-line; Online gaming." Merlin's humourless scoff punctuated her list.

"Yeah, no. I'm not an ‘over the phone’ kind of guy." He stepped out into the hallway and noticed Miss Delocks' head spin in his direction. The last ten minutes had dampened any mood he might have been in for going out, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to cheer himself up. He heard one last reply from the witch before he strode off in the assistant’s direction,

"Keep that attitude up and you won't be a "Part-time Ancient Historian" either."

-

In case the presence of a pale pink fiesta with mermaid stickers running along the doors wasn’t indicative enough, the loud guffaws and scattered shouts told Merlin that his housemates had company. This was before he even reached the top of the hill. Night was creeping across the sky already. Merlin would have liked to stay out longer, but the witches’ words had stuck a little too keenly to him, and a college bar surrounded by five beautiful young ladies was not, it seemed, the best place to process things.

Stanrocc cottage was one of a kind really. It was called a cottage because it managed to be too small to be a villa but also too pretty to be a house. The walls were brick, covered in an artsy kind of cement stuff with shells mixed into it, then painted white. Kingfisher blue window frames peeked out from beneath an overgrowth of marble-like gladioli and ballet-slipper foxgloves. The diminutive front garden was mostly taken up by the wild-cherry tree that had looked hurricanes and landfalls in the face, released a string of angry expletives and stayed precisely where it was with zero intention of ever going away. Around its ankles sprung up Snowdrops every Winter, but right now, in the twilight of August, the space was taken up by a hoard of decaying daffodil corpses.

Through one of the windows, a blonde head was just visible. It stood up haphazardly and came to the door when Merlin knocked. Jack appeared in the doorway, but he’d barely laid eyes on Merlin before he was leaning back inside and shouting into the noisy fray, his accent thick, probably from laughing,

“Ee’s back!” With that he left the door hanging open. Merlin entered, a little disgruntled at the lack of welcome, until he got inside and found out why. Seated on the various beanbags, chairs, and sofas, were their usual six occupants, but with them were four less usual ones. Alright, not that unusual, three of them Merlin knew he recognised.

First was Arthur’s fiancée, Gwen. She was a common recurring visitor. Whenever Arthur wasn’t following her around the café, she was following him around the cottage. The other two present were less clearly defined by engagement rings or Facebook relationship status’. 

Upon sitting back down on his very expensive armchair, Jack had one-hundred-and-fifty centimetres of pink-leggings wearing, ashen skinned vegetarian seating herself comfortably on his lap. That one was Viviane… Or Niniane. Merlin never actually paid attention when Jack gushed about her, but he was almost sure her name was one of those. She was Jack’s “study partner'', both of them being up and coming chemists. Funny, because to Merlin’s knowledge, studying didn’t usually involve reclining on each other’s laps; playing with each other’s hair (or her playing with his, at least) and going out on spa trips together. If they weren’t together, Merlin couldn’t blame Jack. All spread-out, round eyes and large lips, she did look a little like a fish with legs.

Lastly there was Briar. Nobody actually knew what Briar was. Was she Hans’ friend? His girlfriend? A kind of omnivorous goat? It was a mystery. Altogether they knew seven things about her: Like Hans, she was German; she took fencing lessons; her wardrobe consisted entirely of ankle-length, floaty skirts and a special talent of hers was tripping over literal air. She slept with a baseball bat, wore purple contacts in her eyes and, while you wouldn’t imagine so from her physique, she had the appetite of a full grown horse. They didn’t even know what she was doing at the Uni. With her legs folded in front of her, she leant on her maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend’s signature bean bag chair, one hand holding a row of scrabble pieces. The other was surreptitiously burrowing through Hans’ homemade bag of steak flavoured crisps, which famously tasted like dog food to everyone but those two. The curly-headed bag-holder didn’t seem to mind at all.

There was one other girl with them, seated on a folding chair between Briar’s feet and Arthur’s elbow. Merlin gave her barely a passing glance however, taking in a round figure, cherry-pink shorts, and shoulder-length brown hair before he lost interest. 

_Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look._

The counsellor’s stupid voice drove through his thoughts unbidden like an off-rail train. He shook his head and shoved them back down into his subconscious where they belonged, ready to be forgotten. 

The ringing of the words, however, was replaced by his stomach gurgling irritably. A muffin and a salted-caramel hot chocolate were not enough to go on for a whole afternoon. His eyes fell on the Chinese food containers strewn about the coffee table and surrounding floor. A takeaway was a rare occasion in Stanrocc cottage. In the entire county of Essex, there were exactly four fast-food establishments that Hans trusted and respected, and thus, would allow them to purchase from. Two of these were fish-and-chip shops; one- Merlin’s particular favourite- did flame-grilled kebabs; and the last one was the Jade Dragon Restaurant. Very expensive- meaning Jack was probably to thank for it- and very, very good Chinese food. It dawned on Merlin a little late that this uncharacteristic treat might have been meant to make him feel better, judging by the sizeable stack of barbecue kebab boxes that could be seen just inside the kitchen door. Nobody else liked barbecue kebabs.

But he was too tired and too hungry to feel bad for not coming back. He’d been busy.

The energetic game of scrabble had come to a standstill when his arrival was announced. Now ten pairs of eyes were on him and six of them were concerned. Merlin made for the kitchen, the multitude of expectant faces making his chest knot.

“Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, half-heartedly when he noticed both Arthur and Hans shifting as if to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

Noki, the second of the triplets, swept up a container filled with Prawn crackers and extended them in Merlin’s direction. He waved them away dismissively.

“Really, it’s fine, I’ll grab something from the fridge.” And with that he left the room.

Much to his dismay, the fridge was a sorry sight, being mostly bare save for half a watermelon and an empty milk carton. It was a Friday, he soon remembered, which meant Hans would be grocery shopping tomorrow. Also, Briar was there.

Footsteps came thudding along the short passage between the living room and the kitchen. Merlin didn’t have to look up to know that an orange vest with arms was blocking the door.

“What do you want, Arthur?” Even in the fridge, Merlin could feel the glare in the back of his head. Crossed arms also wouldn’t be a surprise.

“I want to know where you’ve been, and why you didn’t feel the need to tell us you weren’t coming back?” Merlin finally selected a yogurt cowering at the very back with a best-before date of yesterday. He shut the fridge door with his foot, searching for a clean spoon on the draining board.

“You know you aren’t actually my dad, right?” He plunged the end of the spoon through the paper covering and started ripping the excess away. “I can go where I want.”

“No.” Arthur had now moved completely into the room. “But you’re still one of us, mate, and we were all worried. The triplets almost got in the truck to come pull you out of whatever ditch you’d fallen into.” Merlin actually looked him in the face this time. He was scratching his ghost of a goatee the way he always did when he felt in deep water. “You didn’t exactly leave in great spirits this morning.”

“Lurrk, uum fyrn.” Merlin said through a mouthful of yogurt. The stuff was absolutely repulsive, but it was the best conversation avoidance technique he had without a book to hand. He manoeuvred around Arthur, trying desperately to keep from openly weeping at the foul stuff. The best-before date ought to have been the may-not-kill-you-before date. 

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed behind him. “I can see that. But you’re-“ Merlin dashed up the stairs, discarding the yogurt discreetly in the kitchen bin as he passed it.

Arthur had changed since meeting Gwen. It was like something had been plucked out of him. The thing that had made Merlin feel close to him while everything was happening: The adoption, losing both their parents. It was like Arthur had grown up, changed somehow. And had left Merlin behind.

And from what he had seen in the other room, Arthur wasn't the only one.

Merlin emptied the yogurt out of his mouth and gargled mouthwash to get rid of the lingering flavour of overripe strawberries. A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him.

“What did the counsellor say?” It was Arthur again. Merlin had honestly had enough of today. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He poked his head out, startling his friend who still had his fist raised to knock again.

“She suggested I take up gaming.”

-*-

Hours later, Merlin turned over his pillow again, trying his absolute hardest to fall asleep. He’d tried relaying a movie in his head, but thinking about the ending just made him sad. He’d tried reading his new book, but Neil Gaiman wasn't particularly relaxing. At last he had just shut his eyes and told himself to sleep, with real authority and gumption. That just made him more awake because his brain hated him.

Eventually he sat up and tugged the string on his lamp. The clock on his desk told him it was 2:26. Merlin’s bones told him that he was actually in a void in which time was a construct of society, and he felt much more inclined to believe the latter. Seeing as somebody, probably Hans, had left a plate of reheated kebabs in front of his door, Merlin hadn’t starved, so he couldn’t explain the hollow discomfort that was plaguing him now.

Actually, he could, he just didn’t want to.

Twenty-four people thought he was a self-important, narcissistic idiot.

Walking around his room to clear his head quickly turned into walking downstairs and into the kitchen to get some shreddies. There were still a few chocolate ones left, them mercifully being the one cereal that Briar _didn’t_ love more than life itself.

As he dejectedly spooned the stuff into his mouth, green smoke came unfiltered through his head again, spelling out: _I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely._ Merlin groaned and pulled at his bark coloured hair.

Ancient and Medieval History, while not a popular course, was still difficult to get into. Only twelve or so universities in the country even offered it. And even then, Southend alone offered the module on folklore and mythologies. So many essays, so many projects, so much time spent reading about the sordid love-lives of ancient deities. For nothing apparently. All because some people he didn’t know thought he was self-obsessed.

Nothing added up.

And gaming? Really. Podcasts and chat-lines were an instant nope, but gaming. In his entire twenty years, Merlin had played one game and one game alone. And well, that one was…

Next thing he knew, Merlin had left the congealed cereal lonely on the sink and was fighting his way through a wall of cobwebs into the storage room. The lights hadn’t worked in there for years, so Merlin clasped a battery powered torch from Colchester castle like a lifeline.

With his finger and thumb he gingerly shifted bicycles, boxes of DVDs and even a taxidermy rabbit that had gone to holes, until he saw it. The shiny, green corner of a laptop-games-console-hybrid emerged from the darkness. And then was immediately plunged back into it when the torch exploded in Merlin’s hand, the light flickering away with a puff of smoke. Merlin had expected this, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the game and high-tailing it out of the storage room before the shadows could grab his ankles and eat him. Safe in his own bedroom again, Merlin intrepidly opened the game.

 _Fairytale Island_ was created by _Avalon Games_ nine years ago. In its entire run, localised in Southern England, it sold about three-hundred consoles. These consoles werebox-like laptops, but a more accurate comparison would be an oversized Nintendo DS. The keyboard-space was taken up by the controls, while the screen was above. Graphics-wise, it was surprisingly ahead of its time. What you did was you uploaded a full body photograph of yourself, lined up the limbs and head, and voila, you had your avatar!

This particular console had been bought by an incredible woman named Igraine, for the eleven year old boy whom she had fearlessly rescued. Merlin ran a finger gently over the sticker, feeling the scratchy remnants of its glitter-glue border. On it was a simple little message, rounded off with a clumsy smiley face and the letter I, in wide swirling print.

_For the most handsome Prince on Fairytale Island!!!_

Obviously his avatar had to change, lest he wanted to continue with the slenderman-esque creature created by his imaginative twelve-year-old self.

Merlin had to stand on his bed to get himself into the frame of his plug-in webcam. Not really knowing what to do with his arms, he did the only rational thing and T-posed. In his pyjamas. In front of a game for preteens. At twenty past two in the morning. 

If one of his housemates came in now he would kill them and dissolve the body in acid.

The screen counted down, readying the camera.

_Three… Two… O-ghlowhfsajfhlsdkhlhdsjfh…………….Error………...rebooting, thank you for your patience._

Well. That seemed fair.

Hopping down as quietly as possible, Merlin watched the static clear from the screen like ghost lightning. He should have expected it. Motorcyclists had long said that ‘Love is when you like someone as much as your motorbike.” Merlin was inclined to disagree, because his bike was the one piece of mechanical equipment that didn’t figure it should explode whenever he dared breathe nearby. No bond would ever be able to trump that kind of loyalty.

Reservedly, he fiddled with a Rubix cube until the screen returned to normal. Nothing seemed that wrong with it.

Until his avatar loaded again.

A brief visit to the bathroom mirror was made so that Merlin could examine both his eyes, but when he came back they found the same sight.

Where there should have been a tall, thin, carrot-shaped, Merlinish mage character, there now resided a tiny, stout- if still Merlinish- one. And it was green. Not even a nice green, like fern or emerald or sage. This was a green that reminded a person of snot and nothing else… Except maybe a dehydrated basil plant.

Merlin bashed his head against the edge of his desk. What had that witch done to him? Why was he concerned about _this?_

Giving up on answering that question, he looked up to face the diminutive monster that bobbed in place like an excitable pea with legs. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he tried to reason. If he didn’t focus, it almost looked like an obese, unwell Gollum. But hey, maybe the other players will like that kind of thing?

Without realising it, Merlin scoffed out loud at himself.

Other players? This game had a range of a thousand kilometres squared and was being handled by a technopollyon (a word that was not a word until Merlin discovered there was no term for a person who inadvertently breaks technology, but there were a multitude of Greek words that he could misuse in its place.)

The chances of another pathetic Englishman within his third of Essex being in possession of and online on Fairytale Island at two-thirty that night, were not worth thinking about. Because they were nonexistant.

With that in mind, Merlin took one last bitter look at his avatar, and continued resolutely on to game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooeee! Thanks so much for reading all of that! I'd really appreciate any feedback you may have (especially anything negative), 'cos I'd love to improve. As I said this is my first fanfiction ever so I'm just getting to grips with how everything works. I have written some of the next chapter but it isn't very good so in terms of updates.......Who knows! Hopefully within a week!!
> 
> Thanks again and I hope you have a great day!!!


	2. Considerate chats and casual crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow arrives in Southend and meets up with an old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so a week may have turned into a month and in that time i still didn't manage to get everything done. I hope you enjoy this but fair warning it is not as good as the first chapter. Turns out nice people are a lot harder to write and I haven't had any time to properly edit. So apologies in advance for this.... Edits will be made if i discover any gaping problems. In the meantime, big, big sorry.

On entering the resource centre, Snow became distinctly aware of the smell of sticky tape. A clock shaped like a glittering sundial read 8:15 Friday morning. She counted on the fingers that weren't wrapped around her suitcase and pet carrier handles. Five hours; that made it seven, six, five, four, three… 2:15 in the morning back home. The thought made a yawn climb in her throat.

In theory, an eight hour flight, followed by a one hour train ride and a two minute drive provided an incredibly long amount of time for sleeping. That theory didn't take into account the fact that, as it had happened, overweight Flemish rabbits were not a recognised domestic companion or sanctioned to cross the Atlantic. Subsequently, rather than putting away a few much needed hours of rest, Snow had spent the entire journey hoping nobody noticed that the twenty-three pound stuffed bunny she held was wiggling its nose.

After her train ticket and bus fare, Snow's handful of British money had turned into a pinch. All that remained in her wallet now were several two-pence pennies, and one shiny fifty-pence penny. 

As well as about three hundred useless US dollars. 

In hindsight, only two twenty-pound notes may not have been the ideal quantity to get changed in the first place. It wasn't as if she would be returning to America any time soon.

Between the tapey aroma, hung another smell, one that drop-kicked Snow six years back in time. A nostalgic smile appeared on her face. Of everybody she had ever met, thirty of them had eaten porridge before. Of that thirty, nine of them had been known to love the stuff. But still, of that nine, there was only one capable of consuming three large bowls every morning at minimum and the smell clung to her like bees to lavender. Snow barely registered the smell getting stronger before it was charging in her direction and smothering her in a grizzly bear hug.

“You’re here! Finally!” Loose blonde hair cutting off her airways, Snow was barely able to choke out a response,

“Ye- Aagh- Goldy, I’m gonna fall over if you don’t-” The gigantic livewire of a girl quickly hoisted herself up again, giving Snow one last warm squeeze as she did.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

It was reassuring to Snow that even after half a dozen years, Goldy was still the same old Goldy. Though way taller now, dwarfing Snow in comparison, the same cheeky, unpredictable sparkle remained in her eye. When she stepped back, Snow noticed the twitch in her hand, a nervous tick which usually manifested in the form of rather unlawfully sticky fingers. At the age of ten, while most little girls were getting the talk about maturity, relationships and physical changes; Goldy Delocks (Or  _ Pick  _ Delocks, as she was calling herself at the time) got a desperate plea to not get arrested before she moved out.

She had failed on both of those counts, being brought in for stealing a box of Lego age twelve and forcibly kicked out age sixteen. Three years on various couches had apparently done nothing to dampen her spirits.

"Wow, wow, wow! wow, wow-" She was almost bouncing up and down.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just… Wow!" Another hug was forthcoming but this time Snow was ready, managing to steady herself just in time. Repeating. Another excitable tick she remembered from their girlhood years. She'd missed it. Text-based communication could never live up to the real thing.

Over Goldy's shoulder, an older woman wearing crescent shaped spectacles peered over the rim of a thick, beige-paged hardback volume with amusement.

"Wow. I mean, sorry, let me take those for you. How are you? How's old Whitey- gah! Sorry, sorry, sorry, I mean, how's your dad? How was your flight? Would you like a cuppa? MARION, CAN WE GET A CUPPA FOR-"

"Thanks, Golds, that would be lovely." Snow relented as her suitcase was pulled from her grasp. When she noticed the woman at the desk- Marion- setting down her book, she raised her hands placatingly. "But don't worry, Marion, I can make one myself, just point me in the right direction." In response, the lady shook her head with a smile and continued on her way, a spring in her slow step.

"Oh tish tosh, let her have this." Goldy said quietly when she was out of sight, "Trust me, the old crone lives to make tea, and you seriously haven't lived before you've tried it her way." With a great heave, Snow's suitcase was hoisted from the floor and into Goldy's awkwardly positioned arms. "Not- not that she'd let you within twenty yards of her teapot. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she sculpted it herself. And she grows her own tea as well! Right, right, now, let me take this to my car while you just relax. Then we can catch up on the way!"

As she staggered in the general direction of the entrance, Snow winced at her difficulty. She tried surreptitiously nudging her pet carrier behind her leg.

"Are you sure, I'm completely fine with taking it myself." She said, her arms coming up of their own volition when the suitcase threatened to crush her friend again. However, she should have known better than to try and get _Gowlle Delocks_ \- a girl who, age thirteen, had tried to get her middle name officially changed from Elisabeth to ' _is-to-steal-the-crown-jewels-without-disturbing'_ - to put anything down after she had her hands on it. All she got for an answer was a slightly more resolute stagger out of the door.

Fondness mostly replacing concern, Snow took Goldy's advice and seated herself down on one of the curvy wooden seats. Reckoning that it couldn't do any harm, she leaned down and clicked open the pet carrier. In a moment, Saggy had hopped from the purple waiting room carpet and into her arms, his round nose impatiently butting for attention. Easily burying her hand in his inch long sandy brown fur, Snow breathed in heavily. As the interior of the pet carrier had not been disturbed since she'd left Georgia, Saggy smelt thinly of the pear-scented soap they used at home. The scent of Papa's sweaters, her floral pillowcases and those gauzy curtains that had hung around Mama’s hospital bed. 

Suddenly a sting began itching in Snow's nose, and her throat turned dry, dusty and hot. She rolled her warming eyes at herself, holding Saggy tighter.

_ Don't, Snow. You promised him you wouldn't. _

"My word, is that a Flemish rabbit?" Cutting welcomely through her thoughts, Snow registered a thick Northern-English accent before blinking twice and turning to where its owner stood in the doorway of a side office. Though she was more than grateful for any distraction, she couldn't help her embarrassment at being caught off guard.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” She responded, sniffing. The woman was smiling broadly from inside the doorway of what she assumed to be a side-office. From head to toe she wore an unmissably beautiful dress; satin-like Kingfisher blue, speckled with intricate embroidered designs. The artist in the back of Snow’s mind wanted desperately to ask whether or not those were hand-done. The human being sitting on the artist realised why that might be perceived as impolite. As the woman approached, Saggy seemingly became aware of a possible new source of attention and naturally began gravitating toward it.

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to be rude. May I?” One hand raised in a silent enquiry, she waited for Snow’s affirmation. Saggy answered her question himself by pushing his big old head into her palm and soaking up the open affection. Snow nodded anyway, although she wasn’t sure she could have stopped the creature from hopping enthusiastically into this newcomer’s arms. While most people ranged from tipping back slightly to full on collapsing after being launched at by her pet, Snow was surprised and impressed as the woman hardly moved. Instead she gently ran her fingers through Saggy’s dense coat, before pulling, apparently out of nowhere, a thick, long-stemmed carrot, which her greedy baby seized at once.

“So, who is this big, beautiful beastie?” She asked, laughing at Saggy’s antics. “Must be what? Ten- eleven Kilos?” 

“Twenty-three pounds,"

"Name?"

"Snow Whi- I mean Saggy! Sorry," She groaned inwardly at herself, “I’m a little frazzled. I’ve been flying most of the night, or, morning...It’s been a long day. Night.”

“Ohh,” With a daydreamy light entering her eyes, the woman sighed, gazing into the middle distance, as if she hadn’t heard Snow’s blunder at all. For a moment Snow was worried she was going to either burst into song or pass out. Both of these acts would result in twenty-three pounds of rabbit ending up on her face and subsequently, a grisly early death. “Flying is amazing, isn’t it? I really should do it more often, but of course these days-” With a barely noticeable pause, she caught her words as though she were about to say too much, a look of reminiscence lingering for a second before dissipating gently like dandelion fluff in a breeze, “-it can wreak havoc on the environment.”

As if by way of changing the subject, she extended her empty hand.

“I’m Morgan, counsellor for the University's human resources centre. And, you are Snow  _ Whi _ , if I heard correctly? Or was that just this little man’s proper name?” Not quite holding back a laugh at herself, Snow took the firm handshake with pleasure, noticing Morgan do something along the lines of a small, smooth, amazingly graceful curtsy as she did. She was liking this woman more and more by the second, and she mentally stowed away that move for the next time she shook someone’s hand.

“Sorry about that, it’s Snow  _ White.  _ And his  _ proper name _ is Sagwa.” She lowered her voice clandestinely, “although we save that for special occasions.” When Morgan laughed, it sounded like wind blowing through treetops. She lifted Saggy and he sniffed interestedly at her blonde bangs.

“Ah, so you’re an apple fan. I’ve never been fond of them myself, could never trust the overt sweetness. It always felt like they had something to hide.”

“He can’t get enough of them, even though they give him the worst stomach pains.” Snow blanked for a moment, trying to remember when she’d revealed the meaning of the unusual name. Then she realised, despite rational screaming that she couldn’t possibly be  _ that  _ awesome. “You speak Korean?”

“Badly. Very badly. I spent three years travelling a lot of Asian countries with my sister, Mab. Also, I can’t lie, Saggy is the perfect name for this fellow. Have you ever visited Korea?” Sadness slipped past the gates and into Snow’s thoughts before it could be stopped.

“No I haven't, unfortunately. My mum was born there though, but when she met my dad she moved out to Germany, then to Atlanta a couple of years after I was born.” She said with a smile. It hurt a lot less to think of them like this. “The name was her idea. Believe me, not a single one of our relatives was as impressed as you. Especially not my dad, since it was technically his rabbit.”

Morgan laughed again, except this time it was as if there was an anchor weighing the happy smile, and when her expression became a pondering one momentarily, Snow wondered whether she’d said something wrong. With one more adoring pet Morgan returned Saggy carefully to her arms, motioned for her to wait a moment and ducked back into her office. Snow was worried, and she backpedalled hard through the minute or so that their conversation had lasted, searching for where she had been rude or insensitive.

Just as Snow decided that Morgan’s mother had been mercilessly run down by a bus that very morning making herself a horrible, horrible person, the counsellor emerged once more, smiling warmly (so maybe it hadn’t happened  _ that very morning _ .)

“You are a student, aren’t you? First year?” In one hand she delicately held a post-it-note shaped like a pale green Unicorn. 

“Uh, yeah. In fact I’m moving in today.” Skipping in her step, Morgan crossed back over to her and handed her the note like a magic spell. In glittery lime cursive were written a phone number; the name  _ ‘Dr M Lefey’ _ and a tiny doodle of a pair of insect wings.

“Oh lovely. So I’d just like to make it clear that my door is always open to all students.” she tapped the note, “and if I’m ever in a session or absent, this my work number; so if ever you need to leave a really long message, you have an open ear.” 

Snow was a little dumbstruck

“Wait, I’m-”

“I’m sorry if I seem to be overstepping, but a cloud crossed your eyes a moment ago. If my years of counselling have revealed anything, it’s that you can’t judge based on the faces you’re presented with. Someone may seem completely content, and not even realise that it’s not all fine and dandy up in here.” She put one finger to her temple. Suddenly, it was less like she had become a different person, and more like she had ceased to be a person entirely. Her voice, her eyes, her very stance had grown shrouded in age, words taking on the texture of rustling parchment and the taste of moss frosting a forest. Out of the corner of her eye, Snow could have sworn a cabbage white butterfly flew through an open window. “Throw out branches, ‘cos yeah it looks like they’re flying fine, but you never know how tired their wings may be. If they never fall, great. If they do, there’s something for them to grab hold of just in time.”

A coherent thought was elusive in Snow’s mind.

“All good?” Pivoting on her heel, Snow watched the glass door bash against the interior violet wallpaper as Goldy kicked it open with one booted foot. Arms empty, she strode in with confidence, but noticeably shifted in manner when her eyes fell on Doctor Lefey. Her back straightened, her jaw unclenched, as if she had run into a 2000s Barbie princess and wanted to seem as impressive as possible. In a way she was almost unrecognisable, save for the porridge stain on her  _ The Office US  _ T-shirt. Her eyes narrowed when she saw what was in Snow’s hands however. Or rather, what  _ wasn’t  _ in Snow’s hands. “Where’s your cup of-”

“Tea?” A very thickly accented, brick-like voice said from Snow’s elbow. As if summoned by Goldy’s irritation, there stood Marion, with a chipped, floral mugful of He-man coloured liquid clutched in round fingers. Hastening to put Saggy back into his carrier, Snow reached for the steaming cup, only for Goldy to whisk it from Marion’s hands with a pickpocket’s skill. 

“Thanks old Hoodie, she’ll drink it in the car. I’ve got to be back in time for…”

Looking up, interested to find out what her friend needed to be back for, Snow found the girl eyeing the carrier from on high with a cold eagle stare. Upon meeting her eyes, the expression softened into a slightly apologetic one.

“Now how, how, how ‘bout I bring ye hot bev-u-rarge and you bring…” She made vague gesticulations with her free hand before bouncing over the door- somehow not spilling a drop of tea in the process- and pinning it open with her foot. Snow simply shook her head and easily lifted Saggy up one-handed. Ever since an unpleasant encounter with a small family of wild bears, Goldy had held an understandable aversion to any furry creature larger than a hamster. If her neckline were an inch lower, Snow was sure she would still see the scars.

Smiling again at how familiar everything felt, Snow turned to say a polite goodbye to Morgan (and also to gently enquire what on Earth she meant with the ancient, intimidating advice,) but her words met an empty space. No footsteps nor a closing door signified that the woman had moved at all. It was as if she had disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

-

“By the way, what was the thing you had to be back in time for?” Seated in the front of Goldy’s second-hand, turquoise Skoda Citigo, Snow felt herself relaxing for the first time since getting up… yesterday morning. Goldy had not been lying about the unparalleled excellence of Marion’s tea. Somehow the little old lady had made it possible to put the sound of leaves hitting your legs after being kicked up off the Autumn ground into a mug. Then she’d flavoured it with the triumph of finding your favourite constellation among a billion stars on a clear night. Snow’s whole body was so comfortable that she would be perfectly fine with just living in the carseat for the next three years.

“Ah, that, that, that.” To her right, Goldy drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “Promise not to laugh, but you know the tall, pointy lady, Morgan, she’s the Uni counsellor and she has a session at quarter-to with this year 2 guy. And hmmmmmmmm!” The high pitched humming sound that accompanied the chef’s kiss fingers, while also startling her out of a reverie she was slipping into, painted a detailed picture for Snow of  _ exactly  _ the type of guy Goldy meant. “I’m talking about a ten- no, not even a ten! An eleven…-ty ten hundred, just, an absolute-”

“I get the picture, Golds.” Snow interrupted, stifling her laughter.

“I swear down, Snow. This, this, this is love! My freaking soulmate! The Padme to my Anakin; the Arwen to my Aragorn; the Jim to my Pam; the Zuko to my Katara!”

“I thought Katara ends up with-”

“No, stop, I’m on a wave here, no negativity, just love, love, love! Undying love!”

“Oh okay, sorry,” Snow chuckled. “Out of interest, have you ever met this young man before now?” To her credit, Goldy became slightly less excitable.

“Well, okay, nope. But, but, but, I think I might have seen him on the tube three years ago.”

“You were still in Juvenile prison three years ago.”

“Oh yeah.”

“How much do you know about him?” At this she did perk up again and Snow inwardly sighed.

“His name is Confidential; he’s my age, almost to the day; has brown hair and brown eyes; Asian; from Suffolk I think; he was in care; from a distance he probably looks like Zac Efron-”

“Goldy, you stole his details didn’t you?” When the only response was the complete disappearance of her lips as she all of a sudden paid close attention to the road ahead of her, Snow groaned and took another gulp of her tea. “Oh Golds.” She would give them back, if she hadn’t already, and Snow was too tired to go into all of the ethical problems with her actions right now; but still all she could think about was how sorry she felt for people who everyone called a ‘ten’ or an ‘eleventy-ten’. Having people declare undying love for you without knowing at least your favourite ice-cream flavour sounded ghastly. 

“Soooo, what were you and Morgan talking about? You looked kinda spacey when I came back.” Goldy asked after a hot second of basic silence.

“You know what,” Snow said, “I’m not really sure. We were having a lovely talk about Saggy and Korea and then she left for a minute and wrote her number down in case I ever needed to leave her a message. Then she was talking and the whole room got kind of pea-soupy and-”

“Hang on,” Stopping at a red light, Goldy glanced at Snow’s face. “Wasn’t your mum from Korea, or somewhere?”

“Yeah, in fact we were talking about her when she…” Trailing off to the sound of hands slapping energetically against the wheel, Snow looked down at her drink.

“A cloud passed over your eyes! Didn’t it?! Did she say that? She has a knack for these things, probably because she used to be a community librarian when she was our age. Librarians honestly have manic powers that manifest in the most useless ways. Like how they can pull cork clipboards out of thin air, or never have to top up their mugs or know the names of every child belonging to a family that comes in only every other month. They’re, they’re, they’re fairies, honestly, all of them!” 

Laughing with comfortable fondness, Snow rolled her shoulders back. Wow, she was so relaxed. So, so relaxed. She should have asked more. That conversation was still hounding her mind but If she just lent her head back and…

-

“Snow? Snow? Snow, Snow, Snow!” 

As the small wooden bear on a broomstick made of pears started shouting her name and shaking her up and down like a rag doll, Snow was startled from her dream with a jump. As her hand went out to steady herself on the car door, it fell forwards into empty air. Blinking groggily against the harsh morning sunshine, she got her bearings once more and peered out, attempting to discern what she was looking at before smearing the sleep from her eyes.

Goldy stood behind the passenger side door wearing a friendly grin. She pointed with her eyes to the drive which she had pulled up in front of. Except it wasn’t a drive, it was a gate, tall and wooden, hinged on either side by two towering stone pillars, each of which were topped by metallic, magenta cones with rusted peaks.  _ Château Moulin Vent  _ was the title inscribed on a glass-protected plaque on one of them. Overall, the entrance gave the impression of something built sparing no expense to age like fine wine, but which was still so new and foliage-less that it was appearing more like syrupy apple juice with anxiety. Time’s beautifying touch was not only absent, Snow could feel it making an active effort to avoid this place entirely.

In hindsight, she should have asked more questions about her accommodations when she had first received the address on the flight out from Georgia, but it’s difficult to haggle with an automated ‘no-reply’ email from  _ Queen’s Cidery _ , especially when there is literally no alternative lodging and she already feels like an unwanted interloper to the entire country. She knew too little to judge her host prematurely, but also not enough to beat down the swelling discomfort that presented itself whenever she entertained the idea of finding out anything more.

“Not too terrible, innit? Shall we, Ma-daarme?” Goldy asked from where she was removing Snow’s suitcase painstakingly from the trunk, taking extra care to maintain a metre’s distance from Saggy’s carrier as she did so. Snow chided herself inwardly for her apprehension.

“Sure. The email said he wouldn’t be arriving for a day or two, but I have the code printout here in my case somewhere. Just give me a- Goldy  _ No!!!”  _ A harsh cracking sound sizzled in the air as Goldy brought her booted foot back down from the keypad which, while not falling to pieces, hung despondently from its case like a melancholy caterpillar. Ignoring her rebukes completely, Goldy strapped the fingertip pieces over a pair of fingerless gloves she’d put on before getting in the car. In one swift motion she pushed aside the keypad, stuck her hand inside the wall and wrenched something out. The gate slowly heaved open. Snow gaped at her friend, who looked nothing but pleased with her work when she turned around.

“Oh calm down, I do it all the time. I like to think of it as my compensation for not breaking his larynx every time he offers to pay me to come back here with him for an ‘hour of  _ fun _ .” Replacing the keypad with worrying accuracy, Goldy took up the suitcase once again and started carrying (dragging) it through as if she owned the place. While a lot of things that had just been said were disturbing, Snow fixated on one thing in particular.

“You’ve met this guy?” She asked, following with the empty carrier in her arms. After spending the entire ride in the trunk, Snow figured it was only fair to let Saggy hop along beside her. She wasn’t worried about him dashing out of sight. He never had done in the past and new, uncomfortable surroundings weren’t anyone in her family’s strong suit. Family, of course, including the Flemish rabbit.

“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. His campus building is the one right next to HR.” Said Goldy. “He comes and eats his lunch in the waiting area most afternoons. I’m telling you the dude needs a life. What’s his name? _Ableist Hunter_ or something like that?”

“Average Huntsman.”

“That’s it. A-vu-rarge. His parents must have  _ hated  _ him, and that’s coming from someone whose parents named her after a kind of cylindrical oil hole.” They approached the hot pink double doors at the top of a flight of marble porch steps. Nothing felt right with Snow about this place. The gaudiness, the richness, the over-the-top newness of everything. With every step closer, she noticed imperfections, or more specifically, the unnatural lack thereof. Every white brick was laid like clockwork, every tile secured with vice-like sincerity. It was like it wore a too-tight belt, or was being held at gunpoint. Either way it seemed to be internally screaming for a moment to breathe.

It all felt a little wrong if she was honest. Saggy tugged at the corner of her shoes in the direction of the car. So, could tell too.

Hurriedly, Snow pulled out her house key, fearful that if she didn’t present it fast enough, Goldy would whip out a hairpin and violate the lock mechanism, or just break the door down entirely. Luckily however, her attention had been commandeered by a pair of pigeons arguing loudly on a telephone wire across the road. She also stood about a metre behind so as to avoid coming within an aura’s distance of the terrible beast that had resorted to nibbling the tops of Snow’s fuzzy travel socks.

The hall inside was too wide and too white, a glittering chandelier dominating a winding staircase which a pink, velvety carpet decorated. Not a door was in sight, only massive arching doorways, a couple of which she could see expensive-looking curtains hanging across. At the end of one corridor, an ornate, golden elevator stood gasping, the inside mirror staring wide-eyed back at Snow. Then that image was replaced with Goldy who, after depositing the case at the bottom of the stairs, had skipped to the elevator with the casual stride of a regular guest. If it hadn’t already, Snow’s subconscious made a special note to fear that girl and the things she was capable of. 

“Where are you-” Snow began in vain, since the doors had shut, and Goldy was now loose in this enormous house like a mouse under the floorboards. Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Snow glanced down at Saggy with a slightly forced smile.

“Welcome home little guy.” It wasn’t possible for a rabbit to pull a sardonic face, yet somehow Saggy managed. Shaking her head, Snow set down the carrier and motioned for him to hop up into her arms. “Come on, it probably gets nicer the further in you go.” And feeling like Dorothy entering Munchkin land, Snow stepped over her suitcase and began her ascent up the glamorous staircase.

It did not get nicer the further in they went. With each foot forward Snow was liking this place less and less. It was when she reached the end of the first corridor and found a nine foot tall bronze statue of a small-boned boy holding a sword with a cape flowing behind him. She desperately hoped that it was in fact a very obscure Game of Thrones character and not a terrifying self-portrait of her absent housemate. Hyper-fixations she would be happy to live with, Goldy had been known to have them ranging from three years to four hours. But all of those had been on things like knitting, or  _ Rise of the Guardians _ , or escape-artists, or- apparently- breaking and entering, and they had all been pretty manageable in the long run. Hyper-fixation on oneself though…

It took a while, but she did eventually find her room. Saggy bounced down so that she could check the note on the door and, finding it to be her name in a rushed, Biro pen scrawl, wrestle with the door handle which seemed sticky in an argumentative way. Finally shoving the door open with her shoulder, Snow and Saggy stood in the doorway and took in what was to be their home for the next one-thousand-and-ninety-five days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading that. Again, I'm so sorry for the slump in writing quality and how much shorter it was. Lots of it I thought was a little rushed and awkward, but I had to post it tonight or I would not be allowed for another six weeks. This is only the first half of Snow's introductory chapter. I will now be going on a mother-enforced hiatus because school is starting up again and I have to focus. I shall try and return in the Christmas holidays.
> 
> As always I would love to hear what you fine dudes think and especially if there were any problems. Please be nice because I am unfortunately a very fragile peasant girl. Anyways, love you all and hope you have an amazing rest of your day :)


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